


Cutting Through The Defense

by partypaprika



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Genderbending, M/M, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:29:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3596391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partypaprika/pseuds/partypaprika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with Alexandra Ovechkin saying the words “Sidney Crosby” like it she would rather eat glass than say his name. </p><p>No. That’s wrong. It starts with Alexandra Ovechkin smiling wide at the camera, her arm thrown casually around Sid’s shoulders and Sid aware of every point of warmth where her arm makes contact.</p><p>No. That’s wrong too. It starts before all that. It starts with the 2005 World Junior Hockey Championships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cutting Through The Defense

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to  bitofpixiedust  and YJ for their invaluable assistance in letting me wail about this fic to them (seemingly without end) and helping me with plot, characterization, proofing, pretty much everything--you guys are amazing.

It starts with Alexandra Ovechkin saying the words “Sidney Crosby” like it she would rather eat glass than say his name.

No. That’s wrong. It starts with Alexandra Ovechkin smiling wide at the camera, her arm thrown casually around Sid’s shoulders and Sid aware of every point of warmth where her arm makes contact.

No. That’s wrong too. It starts before all that. It starts with the 2005 World Junior Hockey Championships.

 

 

 

“Beer coming through!” Ladd yells as she enters the hotel room. The room, just big enough for the two boys who sleep in it, is packed with at least a dozen players.

“Aha!” Getzlaf says from next to Sid. He yanks open the connecting door between the room and the next one. Bellsy is standing on the other side, a triumphant look on his face.

“This door is no match for my kung fu!” Bellsy yells into the space.

Even though he knows it’s entirely futile, Sid says “Shhh!” at the two of them who are giving each other high fives. They ignore him and Sid glances at the door. Instantly the other half of the team in the connecting room starts mingling with the first room—everyone talking over each other as drinks are passed around. The coaches are totally going to catch them, they’re going to be punished forever and Sid’s parents will, in fact, kill him.

Aside from Sid, no one else in the rooms even appears to care that they’re being loud enough to be heard back in Canada, and even more so by the coaches here in this hotel. Sighing, Sid leans back against the wall and tries to think how soon he can make his escape and not get shit for it.

“Awww Sid, you need to relax.” Ladd says as she throws her arm around Sid’s shoulder and leans up to ruffle his hair. She smiles as she does it, knowing that he hates it.

Sid grinds his teeth, which only makes Andi laugh even harder.

“Beer?” She holds up a can of whatever cheap beer she managed to talk someone into buying for them.

“Nah, I’m ok.” He says. Ladd gives him a quizzical look. Even though she’s more than a year and a half older than Sid, she’s still one of the younger players on the team and she seems to have decided that she needed to watch out for Sid in solidarity.

“You sure? Coach and the rest of the staff are all out at dinner and won’t be back for hours, so we’re definitely good to go.”

Before Sid can answer, the noise in the other room suddenly increases, as a bunch of people raise their voice.

 “Hold that thought.” Ladd says and peeks over the door threshold. “Aw, it’s the Russians.” She informs Sid. “Here to commiserate their loss to the champions?” She yells into the next room good-naturedly.

A second later, a bunch of Russian players filter through the second room, depositing a few bottles of vodka and picking up some beer as they go.

“We heard party!” Alexandra Ovechkin says loudly to the room, smiling brightly. She says something in Russian after that and all of the Russian players laugh.

“Great. Just what we needed. More people to make noise.” Sid grumbles.

“Try to have a good time, hmm?” Ladd says. “Pretend that you like us for a little bit.”

“Hey, I do!” Sid protests. Ladd laughs again and then steps back into the crowd.

 

 

A few minutes later, someone throws their arm around him and Sid automatically tries to shrug out of it. “Andi, I am having fun!” He says and then turns to see Alexandra Ovechkin staring back at him, trying not to laugh. Her other arm is held in close to her side, a sling keeping it in place.

Sid feels himself blushing but wills himself to stand up straight and meet her eyes. “Stand by self, fun?” She asks, a thick Russian accent making the words hard to hear over the noise. Sid shrugs awkwardly, unsure of how to answer.

 

“No, no.” Alexandra says definitively. She keeps her good arm back over Sid’s shoulders again and brings him in close. “This, no fun.” She speaks in a low mumble, forcing Sid to try to casually lean in so that he can attempt to understand what she’s saying. Sid resists the urge to rub his temples or pinch the bridge of his nose as he starts to feel the beginning of a headache.

“Where are your friends?” He asks, hoping that she’ll get the hint and go wander off to hang out with them. Alexandra pulls back to take a look at Sid and for a second, Sid can’t help but focus on her eyes. He opens his mouth a few times to say something but his brain seems to have gone offline because he can’t think of anything to say.

“Sid, boring.” Alexandra says finally, wrinkling her nose.

“Hey!” Sid says, a little insulted. Alexandra doesn’t seem to hear him though because she leans back and grabs a plastic cup that has appeared from nowhere and hands it to Sid.

She says something in Russian, a smirk on her face.

“What?” Sid says back. Alexandra motions down at the cup. Sid leans in and sniffs. And tries not to grimace. “Vodka? No thanks.”

“Vodka! You like!” She says. Sid shakes his head. Alexandra nods her head yes and stays where she is, pressed up against Sid. Sid thinks longingly of sitting in his room and being able to breathe without feeling someone else next to him.

“Scared?” Alexandra asks, her smile even wider. Sid feels his irritation levels jump.

“No, of course not. I just don’t want anything to drink.”

“Scared.” She says again, a look of utter glee on her face, as if she’s queen of the world for discovering that Sid doesn’t want to do vodka shots.

“No, I just…ugh, fine.” Sid downs the shot and then immediately regrets it as his larynx feels on fire and the horrible taste of vodka coats his mouth. He coughs a few times and Alexandra starts laughing.

After a second, she stops laughing and slowly leans in towards Sid. Irrationally, Sid’s pulse jumps up and he swallows as he tracks her movement in. For one wild, crazy moment, he imagines her bringing her hand up behind Sid’s neck and pressing her lips against hers. But by the time the image is gone, Alexandra is grabbing the cup out of Sid’s hand.

“Maybe too little, try again when you…older.” She says, winking at him and then she turns and disappears into the crowd while Sid stands there sputtering. For the rest of the evening, he stands there livid and futilely tells himself to not track Alexandra as she makes her way around the room.

 

 

 

 

“Congratulations, Sidney.” The first reporter says. “How does it feel to be taken first overall?”

“It’s amazing.” Sid says. “It’s a dream come true, and I will do everything that I can to live up to the expectations of the Penguins.”

“How do you feel about two number one picks entering the NHL for the same season?” The next reporter says, before Sid’s really finished speaking.

Sid feels his jaw tighten. “I’m honored to even be in the same discussion with Alexandra Ovechkin. I think that having another rookie with such amazing skills will push me to work that much harder.”

“Do you think this will contribute to the Capitals/Penguins rivalry—you and Alexandra Ovechkin?”

Sid tries not to grind his teeth and instead he gives another meaningless automatic response. He’s had to deal with comparisons to Alexandra Ovechkin since the moment everyone apparently decided that he was going to be the top overall pick of his year. Every single article, interview or highlights piece made sure to include her name whenever it had his. For once, he thinks, he’d like to be recognized without having Alexandra Ovechkin mandatorily included in the discussion.

“So, how do you think your playing style and Alexandra Ovechkin’s playing style match up?” The next question comes. Sid can’t hide his grimace and before Sid loses it in front of the entire NHL media corps, the NHL media handler takes pity on him by announcing that Sid is done for questions. The handler brings Bobby Ryan over towards the center and an assistant ushers Sid out of the room.

Prior to the draft, Ovechkin’s name had come up in interviews—there was obviously no way to avoid comparison to last year’s top draft pick. The interviews would inevitably follow the same guided script: Sid’s assumed top pick status (answer: he would of course love to be the top draft pick, but all he really wanted was to play in the NHL regardless of draft pick status), his stats (answer: Sid had a great team surrounding him that allowed him to keep performing at a high level), or what he thought of the teams most likely to get the top draft pick (answer: he would be honored to be pick by any of them) and what did he think about Alexandra Ovechkin (answer with mandatory teeth gritting: she’s a phenomenal player and Sid felt privileged to be included in any discussion with her).

It’s not that Sid doesn’t like Alexandra Ovechkin, he justifies to himself as the assistant walks him through the hallway. Sid mentally pauses and thinks about it. Ok, it’s that he doesn’t like Alexandra Ovechkin. He imagines that she feels the same: no one likes a rivalry forced upon them. Plus, there’s something about her that rubs Sid the wrong way—her stunt back in January managed to get under his skin. When he thinks back to the way that she had smirked at him, looked at him as if he were a kid, it makes Sid feel irrationally furious and he’s not sure if it’s at himself or at her.

 

 

 

 

Contrary to media expectations, Sid spends the end of the summer and the first part of the season _not_ thinking about Ovechkin. Sid’s got bigger issues like training camp and making the team to focus on. So he tells himself that he’s not going to think about Ovechkin and puts her out of his mind until the season actually gets underway.

 

 

The Pens and Caps play each other for the first time in November and no one will shut up about it being the first NHL meeting between Sid and Ovechkin. For the week leading up to the game, every other question from the media has been about how Sid feels about the meet-up. Several newspapers even run centerfold spreads on the comparison between the two of them. His teammates decide to paper his stall with _The Hockey News_ ’ at the game day morning practice.

Sid looks over at Army, his closest friend on the team, who’s trying not to laugh. Army throws up his hands and shakes his head. “Not me—although it is a good one.”

Sid takes a look at the centerfold and tries not to scowl.

 

 

During warm-ups, Sid surreptitiously watches Ovechkin. She’s skating around, smiling, looking like she could be out anywhere having a good time, soaking up the audience attention. Ovechkin looks over at Sid and throws him a quick smirk, the edges of her lips curling up as if she’s trying to hold in laughter. After another second she turns and skates away, shooting a wrister right past Kolzig. A spike of competitive adrenaline starts to pound in Sid’s veins. Normally Sid would be telling himself to calm down and just let it go, focus on getting in the zone for the game. But for all that Sid wants to ignore the whole rivalry thing, he can’t deny that he wants to win this game more than any of the others that he’s played so far. Sid will take any extra motivation that he can get.

The Pens win the game but it’s tight from the start. They go up by one, the Caps come back with an answering goal a minute later. 1-0, 1 all. 2-1, 2 all. 3-2, 3 all. The second period ends and it feels like the Pens are right back where they started from. Sid’s got two assists already but Ovechkin got an assist in the first and a goal in the second that she felt merited an impressively extended celebration.

Back in the locker room, Sid grits his teeth. “We are going to win this.” He tells himself under his breath.

And then with ten minutes left in the third, Sid cycles the puck from behind the net to Brooks up at the point and gets to the front of the net in time to tip in a beautiful, beautiful slap shot. Sid is instantly squashed in a hug by Malone and Recchi. Sid’s scored goals before but not even the excitement of his first NHL goal beats the jubilation and satisfaction that Sid feels on this one.

When the final buzzer sounds, Sid can’t help but look over towards the Caps bench and shoot a shit-eating grin at the Ovechkin. She’s watching him, a serious expression on her face. When they make eye contact, Ovechkin raises up an eyebrow and looks back at him, her face set in a clear challenge before she turns and follows the rest of her team out.

 

 

 

 

Sid’s halfway down the red carpet, desperately hoping that he makes it to the end of the carpet soon, when he hears “Hey Sid, Sid!” in a loud stage whisper from his right. Conscious of all the cameras around him, Sid tries not to audibly groan as he turns around slowly to see Alexandra Ovechkin beaming up at him.

“Ovechkin.” Sid says, nodding once in her direction before turning back so that he can continue to be accosted by cameras and reporters. Ovechkin does not take the hint that Sid’s giving and instead jumps over next to him.

“Sid! Long time no see.” She says. “Have good summer so far? Ready to lose Calder to me?”

Sid turns and glares at her. “No—have you thought about how it’s going to feel when they call my name?”

Ovechkin smiles back, looking delighted with Sid. “Sid’s chirps maybe need work, yes?” Sid wants to scowl and maybe tell her where she can put her chirps when the CBC reporter comes up so him. So instead Sid puts on his media smile and tries to ignore the way the reporter looks ecstatic at getting Sid and Ovechkin in the same interview.

The reporter asks all the normal questions about the season and the Calder and Sid gives his normal responses (“It was amazing to finally be playing in the NHL but we have a lot to work on, myself and the team, for next year.” “It’s an honor to be in the Calder discussion and final list.”). Ovechkin, on the other hand, can’t stop giving non-serious answers and elbowing Sid in the side whenever she’s said something that she considers to be particularly funny.

At the first chance, Sid bolts from the interviewer and books it inside, heaving a huge sigh of relief when he sees that he’s finally managed to lose Ovechkin. Another reporter has managed to snag Ovechkin and is eagerly asking about where Ovechkin got her dress. Ovechkin’s got her eyebrows raised and a smirk that says whatever comes out of her mouth is going to be complete BS. Sid almost feel sorry for the reporter.

Although, as he shortly finds out, he probably should have just saved his pity for himself. Someone had the hilarious idea of sitting Ovechkin in the row behind Sid for the award ceremony.

“Hey Sid, Sid.” She says in a stage whisper from a few seats over behind him. Sid tries to ignore her and focus on Jennifer, an aspiring model, who’s sitting next to him. The NHL is apparently very good at assigning attractive seat partners but every time that Sid tries to get a conversation going, Ovechkin manages to interrupt him.

It’s only when they finally start cuing up the music and playing an opening video that Ovechkin stops bothering Sid. Sid turns towards the stage to where they’ve lowered a screen and are playing a series of interviews with NHL players and hockey footage. Near the end, there’s an interview of—him, discussing his rivalry with Ovechkin. It cuts back and forth between an interview from Ovechkin about the same thing. He sneaks a look at her during the video and she’s focused up on the screen, a completely serious expression on her face for once.

As they go through the awards, Sid finds himself becoming increasingly nervous. It’s not that the award is really that important, in the scheme of the things. After all, it’s not the Stanley Cup or an Olympic medal but it still means something. Sid likes being the best. It’s the truth—plain and simple. It’s how he got to where he is.

When it comes time to announce the Calder Memorial Trophy, Sid tried to dampen the butterflies in his stomach as the announcers state the nominees and show highlight reels for Sid, Phaneuf, and Ovechkin. Finally the video ends and Ron steps back to the podium.

“And the Calder Memorial Trophy goes to…” There’s a dramatic pause and Sid’s stomach feels like it’s in freefall. “Alexandra Ovechkin.”

Sid’s stomach drops and he forces himself to smile politely and clap even though he feels vaguely like going to the bathroom and throwing up. Ovechkin, on the other hand, is all smiles as she makes her way down to the stage.

She accepts the award and there’s a clearly mischievous smile on her face as she proceeds to start joking around, thanking her agent for cleaning her house, buying food etc. etc. Everyone else is laughing their asses off but Sid feels his face heating up as she continues to mess around on stage. He can’t believe Alexandra Ovechkin beat him out for the Calder and she can’t even get up on stage and show respect for the award for thirty seconds.

Once the show (thankfully) ends, Sid would prefer to just go back to his hotel room and wallow but Pat, his agent, had been clear on Sid’s duties for the night. So Sid follows everyone else out of the room to a large ballroom, where he’s directed to a table with a few other players and their spouses.

Everyone else quickly leaves the table to mingle or grab drinks, but Sid makes the executive decision to just stay at the table for a little bit—either until he feels a little less like his throat is going to close up or until enough time has elapsed that he can leave without looking like he’s ducking out too early.

“Sid!” Ovechkin's voice singsongs next to him before she drops into the seat next to him. Sid groans and lets his face fall into his hands.

“Seriously?” He says. “Can you please go away just this once?” It’s not enough that she beat Sid for the Calder. She apparently also has to rub it in his face.

Ovechkin gestures to the table where she’s laid some shots.

“I find you very annoying and I really dislike you.” Sid says darkly.

Ovechkin smiles wide and laughs. “Maybe feel better with shots.” Sid glares at her for good measure and then downs the first shot.

An hour later, Sid is most definitely well on his way to hammered, which Ovechkin, with her weird Russian alcohol tolerance, finds hilarious. She’s definitely a little bit tipsy but nowhere near the level of drunk that Sid finds himself fast approaching.

“It is unfair.” Sid says strongly. Ovechkin eyes him over her glass.

“What is unfair?” She asks. Sid thinks about it. There’s a lot that’s unfair. He makes a general gesture towards Ovechkin. She rolls her eyes and gives a kind of huffing laugh before draining her drink. “Alright, I think time to get Sid home. Don’t want turn into pumpkin.”

Sid feels himself getting flustered as Ovechkin grabs Sid’s jacket and then leans down to put her hands around Sid’s wrists to pull him up. As Ovechkin grabs her award from the table as well, the keen sense of embarrassment becomes sharply augmented with anger that Sid does nothing to stop from building as Ovechkin pretty much drags him out of the ballroom. They pass what feels like half of the current NHL, all of whom give them a bemused look which Ovechkin returns with a smile and salute. Sid wants to die. He can’t believe that he let Ovechkin get him drunk at an official NHL event in front of everyone that they know. Who may also think that they’re going to hook up, which is actually even worse than everyone knowing that he’s drunk.

Ovechkin on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. She’s stumbling slightly but beaming at everyone and saying thank you for their congratulations on winning the Calder Trophy. And that’s it, Sid has officially had enough. He yanks his arm out of Ovechkin’s once they get to the elevators.

Ovechkin looks over at Sid and rolls her eyes before pressing the elevator call button. “What floor you on?” She says.

“Why? Going to make sure that I get home safely and tuck me into bed?” Sid hisses.

“You need me to read bed time story too?” Ovechkin asks as the doors chime open and they step inside. Sid stubbornly refuses to respond, so she checks Sid’s jacket pockets and pulls out Sid’s room card. After a quick inspection she hits the fifteenth floor.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sid yells once the elevator doors close.

“Was trying to have good time.” Ovechkin says. “With you, impossible. So I tried to settle for not letting you make idiot of yourself.”

“Was that what you were trying to do? Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around?” Sid says, his voice rising in volume. “Just another way to ruin something for me?”

“Oh, so this what going on.” Ovechkin says, her jaw setting. Her tone sounds like she’s very bored with this conversation, but her stance says the complete opposite, ready for a fight. Suddenly, Ovechkin’s gone from the breezy girl in the ballroom, to the threatening hockey player that she can be. And she is pissed. “Sore over losing Calder. Sorry I ruined it by being better.”

Sid’s seeing red but and he takes a step in, maybe to yell at Ovechkin or shake her shoulder, start this fight that he’s clearly been itching to have, verbally or physically. But before either of those things happen, they’re suddenly kissing. It’s harsher than any kiss that Sid has ever had, both of them biting each other’s lips, teeth clashing and Sid can feel Ovechkin’s hands grabbing at his shirt while he grabs at her back, suddenly desperate to feel her skin.

Suddenly the elevator door chimes and both Sid and Ovechkin jump and pull back. Sid realizes that they’re still about two inches away from each other and takes another large step back. Ovechkin doesn’t move, her eyes flicking up to the elevator floor display and then back to Sid.

The doors open and they both stand there, staring at each other for a second. Ovechkin’s the first to break eye contact and she holds up an arm against the door. Sid tentatively steps out and Ovechkin follows him, so Sid starts walking to his room.

When he gets to the door, he feels around in his pants’ pockets, trying to find the card. Ovechkin huffs out a laugh and then pulls the card out of Sid’s jacket, which she is apparently still holding, and opens up the door.

“Do you, uh, want to come in?” Sid asks.

Ovechkin looks at Sid like he’s crazy. “Do I want to? Sid, get with program.” And then she steps inside, pulling Sid inside and closing the door. Once the door is closed, she pushes Sid against the wall and kisses him again. This time it’s slower, but no less forceful, and Sid pushes back at Ovechkin until she’s now against the wall, Sid’s arms bracketing her. They pause for a moment, both of them breathing harshly. Ovechkin looks up at Sid and just watches him until Sid can’t take it anymore and kisses her while he pushes her towards the bed.

 

 

 

Sid wakes up the next morning to a not so gentle smack on his ass. He opens his eyes blearily to see Ovechkin standing next to him, laughing while she puts in her earrings.

“Last night fun, no?” She says. “Maybe Sid not so much—“

“Don’t you say it.” Sid warns, intuitively knowing what she’s going to say before she says it.

“Maybe Sid not so much a kid.” Ovechkin says, smiling widely at her own joke. Sid groans. “I go, but text me when bored, yeah?” She leans down and gives Sid another rough kiss and it’s a straight line to Sid’s dick. Before Sid can fully get into it, she pulls back and surveys Sid, apparently checking out her handiwork. She appears to be satisfied because she nods once and then grabs her handbag and heads out. “Bye Sid!” She calls as the door closes.

Sid leans back with a thump against the bed. He just slept with Alexandra Ovechkin. His stupid fucking rival. After she beat him out for the Calder. Fantastic. Sid may have well just painted a sign upon himself that said “Masochistic Idiot”.

With a grimace he looks down to survey himself, to assess the damage. There are more than a few hickeys on his chest and he can feel an expansive tender spot on his neck that’s probably the size of a reasonably large South Pacific island. And then he sees—no, there’s no way that even Ovechkin would be that tacky—but when he stretches out his arm, it’s clear that Ovechkin has actually wrote her number in lipstick on Sid’s arm. Jesus H Christ. Of all the people to hook up with.

Sid, for some reason that he can’t quite fathom, actually programs Ovechkin’s number into his cellphone before he takes a long, much needed shower.

 

After a few days, Sid sends Ovechkin a message saying “This is Sidney Crosby.” Ovechkin replies a message that just says “So formal!” and then has a bunch of smiley faces. And then Sid puts Ovechkin out of his mind to focus on his summer training.

 

 

 

 

Come September, the season starts back up and, as luck would have it, the Pens play the Caps pretty early on. Sid alternatively dreads and feels irrationally excited about the game. What if his team just takes one look at Ovechkin and him and _knows_ that they’ve slept together. Objectively, Sid knows that there’s no way that they’re going to magically be able to figure it out, but he can’t help but stress about it. They would never let him live it down. Sid’s never going to let himself live it down.

Sure enough, when the game actually arrives, Ovechkin takes it upon herself to smirk at Sid when they make eye contact during warm-ups. Sid can feel himself blushing and glares back, trying to mentally will Ovechkin to stop looking at Sid. Ovechkin just seems to find this amusing and keeps casually staring at him. Eventually Sid decides that the best plan would be to just pretend that she didn’t exist and does his best to just ignore her completely, focusing on doing his warm ups. (And if he glances over a few times to see if she’s still looking, it’s no one’s business but his own.)

 

 

The Caps beat the Pens easy, the defense unable to track Ovechkin throughout the game. She keeps skating through the Pens players like they’re wet paper and she gets a goal and an assist, the final score being 3-1. Sid doesn’t even register a point and ends the game with a -2.

Sid’s in an especially bad mood on the flight back and everyone gives him space, even Army, his normal seat partner.

 

 

 

 

In January, both Sid and Ovechkin are selected for the all-star game which the NHL immediately jumps on. The NHL has the two of them featured in a bunch of all-star game commercials, which Sid and Ovechkin thankfully don’t have to film together.

Filming is a pain, as it always is. Every time they play back the takes, Sid can’t help but wince. He knows that he’s not the most interesting guy; acting clearly doesn’t come easily to him. That’s why he plays hockey for a living and doesn’t act. But Sid wishes that he came off as slightly less ridiculous on screen. The worst part is that everyone keeps talking about what Ovechkin’s parts are going to be and Sid can just imagine Ovechkin there, confidently going through her lines and totally nailing it. It makes filming that much worse.

By the time that the director deems the footage to be “acceptable”, they’ve been at it for six hours. Sid spent most of it wishing for a quick and merciful death that never comes. Instead he’ll just get rewarded with public embarrassment when the spots finally do air. Fantastic.

 

 

 

 

Sid doesn’t see Ovechkin again until the actual All-Star weekend when Sid shows up outside for the mandatory media frenzy. He sees that Ovechkin’s already made it there and is posing for pictures and giving interviews.

Predictably, Sid is instantly herded over towards Ovechkin by one of the media handlers. When Ovechkin turns around, she smiles wide. “Sid! My best rival! Have room service yet?” She asks, laughing at her reference to one of the spots that they had to film. The group of reporters around Sid and Ovechkin all chuckle and even Sid feels himself starting to smile before he gets his face under control.

“Favorite video of Sid.” Ovechkin confides to the crowd.

“You’re hilarious.” He says. Before Ovechkin embarrasses Sid further, someone yells for them to pose together so Ovechkin reaches out and pulls Sid over. For a minute, Sid’s only aware of all the places in which Ovechkin’s arm and side is pressed up against Sid. She’s so warm, he can feel it through his suit. Or maybe Sid’s too warm. He’s not too sure anymore.

“Sid?” Ovechkin is saying. Sid snaps to attention. “You ok?” She nods gently towards the cameras and if Sid wasn’t blushing before, he definitely is now.

“Right, sorry.” Sid says and turns to the cameras to give them his media smile as the reporters start asking him and Ovechkin questions about the All-Star game.

 

 

The next day, the Eastern Conference team loses to the Western Conference team. But everyone’s really just there to have a good time since it’s not a regular season game and the points don’t matter. So once the game ends, everyone heads out to go get hammered together.

This is Sid’s first All-Star game and there are no other Penguins at the game, so he ends up hanging out with Eric Staal and Dion Phaneuf, who he knows reasonably well from their Team Canada experiences, and some of the other younger players.

A bunch of the female NHLers in the All-Star game have taken over a few tables in the middle of the hotel bar. They get increasingly rowdy as the night goes and Sid can’t help but watch Ovechkin and Danni Briere order yet another round of shots. Sid has no clue where they’re putting the shots away. Even Staal looks impressed.

As the evening winds down, Sid finds himself looking over towards Ovechkin’s table. At one point, Ovechkin catches him staring and she gives him a questioning look. Without meaning to, Sid feels himself giving a tentative smile. When he catches what he’s doing, he immediately stops—what on earth is Sid thinking? But Alex doesn’t look weirded out—she gives a toothy smile back and then stands up, saying something to her tablemates which leads to a chorus of “No!” and “Party pooper!”

Sid takes a deep breath and stands up as well. “Alright guys, I’m heading out.” No one pays him much attention because Justin Williams has just brought over a tray of shots and everyone looks delighted with this development. So, Sid takes advantage of the opportunity to leave and head towards the elevators.

Sure enough, Ovechkin is waiting by the elevators, her room key out. “Important question.” She says, frowning.

“Umm…” Sid says, unsure of what she’s going to ask. Maybe this is not going where Sid thinks it’s going. Maybe she has an actual question. As Ovechkin draws the pause out for a few seconds, Sid starts blindly panicking that maybe Ovechkin is going to try and engage in some rival hockey sabotage for the Caps or try to get locker room secrets about the Pens.

“Your room or mine?” She says suddenly and then smiles widely. “Why you look so concerned? Sid need to lighten up. Just joke.”

Sid rolls his eyes and presses the elevator button. The doors open up almost immediately and Sid looks over at Ovechkin. She’s giving him that smile, the one that says that she knows something that Sid doesn’t. For some reason, it emboldens Sid and feeling braver than he normally does, Sid pushes Ovechkin back into the elevator, waiting until the doors are closed before he steps closer and kisses her, nipping quickly at Ovechkin’s lip before moving down to her neck.

“Mm. I like where this is going.” Ovechkin says, somewhat breathlessly, which makes Sid irrationally proud. After all, he can’t quite disagree. He thinks he may like where this is going as well.

 

 

 

In the morning, Ovechkin lets herself out. But, before she leaves, she kisses Sid gently and shakes him awake. “Leaving now.” She says. “See you when we beat you guys next.” Sid bristles, even in his sleepy state. “Also, maybe you not call me Ovechkin. Instead Alexandra? Alex? Sasha?”

Sid feels his face turning bright red, which makes Ovechkin—no Alexandra? Alex? Sasha? laugh. “Ok, we start with Alex, maybe work up to Sasha.” She says. And then Alex is gone before Sid can say anything in response.

Pathetically, Sid drags the covers over his head and tries to will himself to go back to sleep.

 

 

 

 

A few days later, Sid gets a text from Ovechkin—Alex—with a picture that’s of her wearing some fairly ridiculous gold chains around her neck, posed in an attempt to look like she’s actually got street cred. “New jewelry!” the message says and then has a bunch of smiley faces. Sid snorts out loud, it’s that ridiculous. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to respond or not, so he waits a few days and then texts back. “You’re ridiculous.” Alex responds with a “Loosen up! Fun, you know?”

Sid chooses to ignore Alex’s response. Maybe if he plays dead, she’ll go away. But it’s too late—Alex apparently decides that they’re friends or something and continues to text him. It’s nothing especially regular, but once in a while she sends him a picture of something ridiculous or mocks him about his latest media statements. Sid’s not sure why Alex keeps texting him—it’s not like Sid’s responses are that interesting. But she continues to do it all the same.

Alex has also apparently decided that this hooking up should occur again—outside of poor decisions under the influence—because Sid gets a call the night before the game before the next Pens/Caps game. “What is your address?” Alex says, sounding distracted, when Sid picks up. Sid looks over at the clock.

“It’s almost nine.” Sid says. “And I live in Mario’s guest house.”

“Yes. I know. Everyone know. Address?” Alex says. “Hurry up, am in cab, need to tell him where to go.”

“You’re already in a cab?” Sid groans. Presumably, she’s asking for Sid’s address in order to complete invade Sid’s privacy and home. “Ugh, fine.” He rattles it off, which Alex parrots to the cab driver.

“Good! See you soon.” Alex says cheerfully and then hangs up.

“Thanks for the heads up.” Sid tells his phone. The phone, unhelpfully, does not respond.

 

 

Alex shows up about twenty minutes later and against his better judgment, Sid lets her in. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Sid says once he’s closed behind her.

“Maybe that’s why is good idea.” Alex says, crowding up close to Sid. She is just about as tall as Sid is and Sid can’t help but find that hot right now. She doesn’t initiate anything though, just stays close in Sid’s space.

“So,” Alex says finally, probably thinking that she’s being subtle or funny or maybe both. “You going to give me tour? Maybe show me the bedroom?”

“Something like that.” Sid says, rolling his eyes. He gestures towards the hallway and expects that Alex will step back so that Sid can lead the way. Instead, Alex runs one of her hands up Sid’s neck. Her hand is cold so Sid shivers at the contact and then she leans in to kiss Sid. It’s an open mouth kiss, but unlike their past two hook ups, it’s gentle and slow, as if Alex has all the time in the world.

Eventually when Alex starts running her hands underneath Sid’s shirt, her cold fingers almost refreshing against Sid’s stomach and sides, Sid pulls back. To his embarrassment, he’s panting slightly. “Bedroom.” He says, his voice coming out deeper than normal.

Alex looks back at Sid and for a moment her face is completely serious and then she nods. “Yes.” She says.

Sid stares at her for a second—he may not especially like Alex, but even Sid can admit that in general, she’s an attractive woman. And right now, her lips redder than normal, her face flushed and her shirt completely messed up, she’s completely gorgeous. Before he can stop himself, Sid leans in to kiss her chastely before it deteriorates into something far more dirty. They spend a few more minutes just making out in the hallway and it’s—nice—almost, before Sid finally acknowledges that if he doesn’t stop now, they won’t make it to the bedroom.

“Bedroom,” Sid tries again, but it gets lost in Alex’s lips. Finally, he pulls back enough to grab Alex’s hand and head towards the bedroom, Alex trailing behind.

 

 

 

 

After that, it pretty much becomes a regular thing. Sid learns to expect a last minute visit when they’re both in the same town. After the third time of Alex texting Sid while he was out, Sid gives in and stops planning things when the Caps come into town the night before their game or stay the night after one.

It’s not like Sid is overly fond of the arrangement, but he’s not exactly about to turn down no-strings sex with a hot athlete. He is only human after all.

 

 

Alex continues to text Sid random things—weird stories about her day or pictures of her making funny faces at the camera or, most often, random strings of emoticons. Sid mainly ignores the texts, but occasionally she sends something ridiculous enough to warrant a response back. Alex doesn’t seem to mind the arrangement, at least going by the fact that she keeps on doing texting him. Although if Sid had to bet on it, he would guess that Alex just likes the attention. That would be so like her.

 

 

 

 

 

When summer comes after the Penguins lose in the first round to Ottawa (the Caps don’t even qualify), Mario and Ray sit Sid down and say that they’ve decided to name Sid as captain. It’s not a surprise, but it’s weird to have it actually be said, all the same. When the team announces it to the media, there’s a collective press freak out which Sid does his best to weather.

He receives a bunch of texts from his friends and family that he dutifully replies to. Even Alex texts him. She sends him a flurry of odd texts saying “Congrats!” “Biggest Penguin of all )))))))” and, oddly, a picture of a penguin at a zoo that just says “SID!”

Sid responds to the “Congrats!” (Thanks.) and ignores the Penguin ones. After an embarrassingly long amount of time spent thinking about it, he does text her “Beat you to it.” Alex sends back a picture of herself where she’s squinting into the camera. He thinks she’s trying to look mock angry, but he’s not positive.

Alex’s texts drop off once she (presumably) heads back to Russia. It feels a little weird to not receive weekly updates on Alex’s odd adventures, but Sid brushes off the feeling. After all, he’s got other things to focus on. He’s got a strict summer training schedule that he needs to stick to in order to be ready for next season.

 

 

 

 

 

By the start of the next season, Sid feels ready. Even though Sid is half convinced that he’s too young to be captain, that the team needs someone with more experience, there’s a sense of rightness about the team. Evgeni Malkin, Geno, has finally arrived from Russia in order to play on the Penguins. It takes a bit to get everything into place, legally, but it’s clear from the moment that Geno plays with the team that he could be one of the missing pieces that the team has been trying to fix.

 

 

The season starts off, if not well, then at least better than the previous season. The Pens win a few, then drop a few, but they manage to stay above .500. It’s a long way until playoffs, but by the beginning of December, Sid’s feeling cautiously optimistic.

Well, optimistic until everyone starts getting hit with serious injuries. Fleury gets an ankle sprain in December and Sid follows a month later with an ankle sprain as well. He spends most of the second half of the season rehabbing it.

With everything going on with the team and Sid’s rehab, Sid would prefer to put Alex completely out of his mind. But, she sends him a ridiculous penguin themed care package that Sid feels obligated to call up and thank her for.

“Sid!” Alex says when she picks up the phone. “You know how to dial? Is miracle! All this time, I thought that you only knew how to text. Very sad.”

“You’re hilarious.” Sid says, already wishing that he had just texted back his thanks. “I was just calling to, uh, say thanks. For the package. You didn’t need to do that.”

“But if not, I would have missed this incredibly rare event.” Alex says and Sid can only imagine the smirk that would be on her face.

“Right…” Sid says, now feeling awkward. There’s a semi-long pause where Sid is absolutely certain that he should have just texted rather than call before Alex starts speaking again.

“So, uh, ankle injury? How long you think you’ll be out?” Alex says, at a volume level that’s a little more subdued than normal. Is it Sid’s imagination or does Alex actually sound concerned?

“You know I can’t tell you that.” Sid says, frowning. “Are you asking because you’re fishing for espionage purposes or are you actually concerned?”

Alex huffs. “Not actually concerned. Just can’t have people saying that I’m best because my rival is out. I want people to keep saying that I’m the best because I’m better than you.”

“No one says that you’re the best, even while I’m injured.” Sid says, rolling his eyes.

“Everyone say it.” Alex says matter-of-factly. The conversation devolves from there, but when Sid finally gets annoyed with Alex and hangs up, he feels marginally lighter.

 

 

 

 

When Sid makes it back for good, playoffs are just around the corner. The Pens are a lock for a playoff spot and it looks like even the Caps will make the playoffs. Sid tells himself to not think optimistically because the last time he felt optimistic, both he and Flower were out for eight weeks a piece, but he does allow himself a little bit of hope that maybe they’ll go farther this year.

 

 

Playoffs start and the Pens are set to play the Senators. The Senators haven’t had a great season, but they’ve worked hard and they’re not looking bad. So Sid’s expecting the series to be a slog. But once the games start, the Penguins click like nothing that Sid has ever felt. They hit the ice as one cohesive unit, every line playing its part perfectly.

The Pens win one game, then two, then three and the next thing that Sid knows, they’ve just swept the Senators, the only team to do it in the first round.

 

 

The Caps lose to the Flyers and Sid debates if he should text Alex. He remembers losing the year before in the first round and how much it had sucked to have finally made it and yet barely gotten out of the gates. So even though he types out a few short messages, he deletes each one and ends up sending nothing at all.

 

 

After the Senators come the Rangers. The games are harder, but the Penguins still feel firmly in control and they win the series 4-1. Then the Penguins are up against the Flyers—a grudge match through and through. The Flyers put up a better fight than the Rangers but it’s not even close and even though the Flyers take a game, the Penguins win it in five games at home, the game five score a beautiful 6-0.

And then, suddenly, the Penguins are in the finals. They’re actually in the finals. Sid’s dreamed about this moment since he was a kid—playing in the Stanley Cup finals, scoring that game winning goal, bring home the Stanley Cup. And it’s all just so close that Sid can taste it.

Which is probably why it hurts so much when the Penguins lose.

Sid knew that the Stanley Cup wasn’t going to be easy to get. That the finals would be an uphill battle. But Sid had always thought that if he gave it his all, at least he’d be able to say to himself that he gave it his best shot.

Instead, a pit settled in Sid’s stomach after the loss at home in game four. It had stayed there, firm and dogged, every morning and every night. Right up through the end of game six, when the buzzer had sounded and the Red Wings had flooded the ice in celebration. Then, the pit had turned straight to lead.

He couldn’t remember any experience more bitter than going through the handshake line after the game, looking into the eyes and shaking the hands of the Stanley Cup victors.

Sid goes through the media that night and each question is just a little bit more salt in the wound, but it feels right that he should have to sit through it.

 

 

 

 

The team flies back that night and Sid heads straight home from the airport. He drops his bags in the hallway and heads immediately for his bedroom, dropping onto the bed and lying there.

After an indeterminate amount of time, his cellphone starts ringing so Sid pulls it out and looks at it. It’s Alex. Sid debates throwing his phone at the wall and hearing that satisfying crunch but instead, in a clear masochistic move, he answers it.

“What.” He says.

“Sid.” Alex says, sounding surprised.

“Were you trying to call someone else?” Sid asks.

“No.” Alex says. There’s a pause. “Sid, I was just calling so that I could—“ Alex starts and for the first time since Sid has made Alex Ovechkin’s acquaintance, she sounds almost gentle.

And suddenly, Sid is angry, furious, he wants to punch something, the wall, Alex’s stupid face, anything. “Did you call to say that you’re sorry?” He says, his voice taut.

“I—“ Alex starts. “I, just—“

“I don’t want your fucking pity.” Sid says and before he can stop himself, he hangs up. Who does she think she is? The Caps lost in the first round—she has no right, no place to be pitying Sid. Sid turns over and punches his pillow a few times. It doesn’t make him feel any better.

It’s quiet on the Alex front after that for a few weeks, but Sid’s got plenty to occupy his time. Lockers need to be cleaned out, exit interviews need to be given and everything needs to be packed up so that he can head home for the summer.

Alex hasn’t texted by the beginning of July and Sid’s actually considering texting her when he gets a text from her right after the free agent deadline. Sid’s wouldn’t say that he’s excited to open it or anything, but he figures he might as well just open it right away and be done with it. It’s a picture of Alex posing with a penguin at what appears to be the Moscow zoo. Alex has written “Me and Sid!”

Sid texts back “You’ve already done that one. Get new jokes.”

Alex responds with a bunch of )))))))))))))) and, apparently, a renewed license to irritate Sid for the rest of the summer.

 

 

 

 

Sid trains harder that summer than he’s ever done in an off-season, the feeling of getting so close and failing because he wasn’t good enough pushing him in every waking second. Sid tries to put on as much weight as his body will allow. He spends the summer first flying to Los Angeles to train, then to Toronto for the Biosteel camp and finally back to Pittsburgh.

When the season starts back up, every question from the media, every narrative that they’re already mentally preparing focuses on how the Penguins are going to come back from losing in the championships. Sid grits his teeth and uses all of his media training to calmly state and restate that the team is channeling their frustration and disappointment into their performance. Yes, the team has grown as a result of their experience. Yes, Sid believes that they can and will go all the way. Next? Next? Next.

But the problem is that while the Penguins start the season reasonably well—a little bit lagging as to be expected from a team that played an extra two months of hockey—they just can’t seem to pull it together. By the time that December comes around, the Penguins are technically not even in a playoff spot. The Penguins—a team with Geno, Flower and Sid, arguably three of the top performers in the NHL—are a bubble team.

The Pens are still slumping hard in January. It’s gotten so bad that there’s talk of firing Thierren, although it’s all just rumors and hushed whispers. Sid’s honestly not sure if it’s a coaching problem or maybe a problem with Sid’s leadership. Either way, the underlying issue is that when the team skates out of the ice, they’re not making it work. Sid tries to do what he can, talk with his teammates, lead on the ice, but it doesn’t change anything. Especially when Sid is sidelined by a minor knee injury in the middle of January.

By time the All-Star game rolls around, Sid’s facing the realistic possibility that the Penguins may not make the playoffs. This team that almost went all the way the year before may not be able to even limp into eighth place.

The last thing that Sid wants to do is take time away from his team and rehabbing his knee to go to the All-Star game. When the NHL first asks him to come and participate in an off-ice capacity, Sid (politely) tells them that he’s sorry but he doesn’t think that he’ll be able to come. But the NHL makes it clear that his presence is a requirement, if it’s not stated in so many words. So Sid grits his teeth, packs his bags and heads to Montreal.

 

 

 

 

There’s something uniquely awful, Sid thinks as he heads down to the press room, about having to attend a hockey game that he can’t play in for the sole purpose of smiling and looking nice for the cameras. Everyone else who isn’t playing in the All-Star game gets to a have almost a full week to see their friends, their families or maybe even take a vacation. Not Sidney Crosby.

The first round of questions all focus on the Penguins performance or lack thereof over the last few months. Sid just gives his best bland smile and gives neutral non-answers to their questions. So then, in what feels like revenge for his non-assistance, the reporters all start in on their favorite old refrain. The Ovechkin/Crosby rivalry.

“You and Alexandra Ovechkin have both been in the league for four years now—“ “—Penguins haven’t yet won the Stanley Cup?” “—she’s outperformed you—“

Normally, Sid would think of himself as being a pretty laid back guy. He may not be the easiest to please, sure, but off-ice, he’s rarely angry or frustrated with anyone except himself. But Sid is so sick of getting question after question about Alexandra fucking Ovechkin and how the Penguins choked in the finals and how the Caps apparently have God’s blessing to take the Cup this year.

It feels like there’s a little switch in his brain and everything turns to white noise while what feels like a thick fog of anger builds up behind Sid’s eyes. Sid must answer the questions and do so in a fairly predictable manner, because the next thing that he’s aware of, a handler is releasing him from the media clutches and sending him out of the room.

All that Sid wants to do is head back to his room, maybe punch his pillow and yell futilely into it for a while before going to sleep. But Geno catches him in the hallways and tries to drag him toward the hotel lobby.

“Have to watch out for Captain.” Geno says, smiling at Sid. “Army make me promise.”

“I don’t need to be watched out for.” Sid says sharply. Geno frowns a little, looking slightly hurt and Sid knows that he’s being rude, hates that he’s doing it, so he apologizes and lets Geno take him to a bar near to the hotel that has been overrun by the All-Star and YoungStars teams.

When Sid enters the bar, he can’t help but look around for Alex. After all, this is exactly her scene. She can get rowdy and drunk and have everyone in the NHL eating out of the palm of her hand. There’s no way that she would miss it.

Sure enough, he quickly spots Alex who’s laughing loudly and smiling at something that Ilya Kovalchuk is saying. The two of them are tucked away in a corner, heads bent in close to each other, and they’re both clearly comfortable and having a good time with each other. Sid feels something cold flash through him, just adding onto the mental list of things that make him angry at the moment, and he swallows once, unable to look away, before Geno bumps into his shoulder.

Sid sets his mouth and spins around 180 degrees, heading to the opposite end of the bar, only stopping to making sure that Geno is following.

When they get to a semi-open table filled with a few other players that Sid and Geno exchange nods with, Sid sits down heavily. Geno peers down at Sid.

“I think we need heavy drinks.” Geno pronounces and goes straight to the bar and brings back two shots of vodka and two beers.

Sid downs the vodka before Geno can even open his mouth. Geno raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything, instead pushing his shot over to Sid.

 

 

Sid’s making small talk with the other players around the table, Weber, Carter and Staal when a few of the more forward girls in the bar drift over towards their table. One of them, a lanky brunette, zeros in on Sid.

“Hey….I don’t want to be weird about this, but are you Sidney Crosby?” She asks.

Sid does a half shrug. “Yes?”

“I just graduated from college in Pittsburgh.” She says, smiling widely. “And, don’t tell my parents this, ever since I moved there, I’ve had a weak spot for the Pens.”

Sid knows this script. He’s not really used it, at least hasn’t used it in a few years, but it’s not exactly rocket science to figure out where this girl wants the conversation to go.

Normally, this would be where Sid politely excuses himself and retreats closer to his teammates, but he thinks back to Alex and Kovalchuk, to those stupid questions from the press, to how pitying Alex sounded when she called after they lost and Sid feels a little reckless, a little bit like being vindictive. So before he can stop himself, Sid smiles back.

“That is brave up here in Habs territory.” Sid says. And then giving his best aw shucks smile, “So, who on the Penguins is your favorite player?”

 

 

Some indeterminate amount of time later, the girl, introduced as Jenna, has firmly placed herself on Sid’s lap. Jenna and Sid quickly progress from inane flirting to kissing and Jenna starts what Sid feels qualified to call heavy petting. Sid’s trying to find a good moment to suggest that they go back to his room when he hears a familiar voice yell “Zhenya!”

Instinctively, Sid finds himself pulling away from Jenna. She looks vaguely confused but doesn’t move from his lap. Sid wants to protest to himself internally that there’s absolutely nothing wrong that he’s doing, so he shouldn’t be feeling an icy stab of guilt in his chest. But it’s there all the same.

Sid can’t see through the curtain of Jenna’s hair that’s obscuring Sid’s view, but he hears Alex walking up to the table and begin talking to Geno in Russian. When Jenna pulls back further, Sid sees Alex smiling at Geno, waving her hands, clearly asking a question.

Sid can’t pretend to really know any Russian except for some creative curse words but he definitely makes out the moment that Alex says “Sidney Crosby”. Sid’s stomach sinks.

Geno throws a look over towards Sid and Alex follows Geno’s gaze. She’s smiling as she looks over, one eyebrow raised like she’s about to play a joke on Sid. Well, that is, until she makes eye contact with Sid. For a second, she just looks confused and then her face freezes.

The bar is loud with music and people trying to yell over it to be heard. Logically, Sid shouldn’t really be able to hear anything specific at all. But Sid can clearly hear Alex swallow and then breathe in harshly.

“Sidney Crosby.” Alex repeats and her voice sounds high and pitchy, like she’s forcing herself to say his name. And Sid wants to jump up, do something, but he’s frozen, stuck to the seat, his heart thudding painful in his chest. Before Sid can will his body to do anything, Alex turns and walks away, leaving Sid, Jenna and Geno sitting there.

Jenna turns and looks at Sid in confusion. Whatever she sees there makes her face fall. “I should probably go.” She says and disappears into the crowd. Geno, for his part, looks back and forth a few times from where Alex headed to where Sid is sitting.

“Just…don’t.” Sid says finally, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. Geno purses his lips but doesn’t say anything at all.

This is good, Sid tells himself. It was apparent from Alex’s reaction that she thought that something was going on between them. It’s best to make it clear that there’s nothing there. After all, Alex was absolutely nothing to Sid—not a friend and definitely not anything more. The only thing that Alex is to Sid is a constant pain in his side that is continually brought up by the press. Good riddance.

 

 

 

 

Sid spends the rest of the weekend in a terrible mood. Geno, to his credit, lets Sid stew and doesn’t once try to pull Sid out of his funk.

Alex, for her part, appears to be completely unfazed, whatever emotions Sid thought that he saw in the bar are completely gone. She’s smiling for the cameras, playing it up on the ice and apparently having the world’s best time at the All-Star weekend.

But, it’s clear, at least to Sid, that Alex has made some sort of a decision. Alex doesn’t text Sid and always finds an excuse to walk out of any room that Sid is in. It’s kind of stupid—Sid has no desire or plan to corner her. If she keeps it up, people are going to wonder why the two of them have an inability to be within 50 feet of each other.

Great, Sid thinks, leave it to Alex to cause problems for Sid even when she’s not talking to him.

 

 

 

 

Alex maintains her radio silence after the All-Star weekend. Which is a welcome relief. He has enough going on with the team, he doesn’t want to have to deal with Alex. It’s nice to finally experience some peace.

One week stretches into two. Two into three. It’s not like Sid’s counting the minutes or feeling guilty of anything like that, but sometimes his fingers itch of their own accord to type out a text to Alex. See how she’s doing.

But then Sid gets the call that Therrien has been fired and replaced with Dan Bylsma from Wilkes-Barre/Scranton. And all the stress that Sid has been feeling since the start of the season ratchets up to about eleven. He has to deal with a long series of team meetings about the change and reassure the team that they’re going to be fine. For some weird reason, Sid misses those texts more than anything—even if it was only because they made him feel that much better about his life. At least he wasn’t as weird or crazy as Alex, right?

 

 

 

 

The Penguins don’t play the Caps again until the middle of March. Somewhat miraculously, Bylsma manages to pull the team back from the brink. The team feels a little leaner, still bitter from last year, and everyone on the team is hungry to win. And so once Bylsma hits the reset button, the team starts stepping it up. They start winning, get solid streaks, not just alternating wins and losses and before Sid’s aware of it, they’ve managed to move from 10th place in the Eastern Conference to 6th place.

The Caps game is a must-win and the Penguins always go into games against the Caps with a little more energy. Sid’s no exception to that, but he feels a little more keyed up than normal.

“Sid, something on your mind for the game?” Flower says. He looks down at the armrest where Sid has been tapping his fingers. Geno looks over across the aisle where he’s seated next to Gonch.

“No, I-“ Sid flashes back to Alex smiling at him the last time that she’d come over to his place and then thinks again to the last time that they had seen each other. It’s like a flash of cold water in his face. “I’m just looking forward to playing.”

Flower laughs. “Hold the presses. Sidney Crosby is excited about playing hockey.” There’s laughter from the rest of the team. But he continues “This nervousness feels like more than normal excitement. Perhaps excitement to be playing your rival.” He draws out the word with a sing-song falsetto voice.

Sid finds himself flushing. “Not you too! No—I just—I am looking forward to the game.” After he says it, Sid realizes in a weird, king of perverse way, he is looking forward to it.

 

 

The Caps take the ice for warm-ups after the Pens and Sid finds himself looking over to the offensive some, immediately picking out number eight. When she starts the lazy circles on the Caps side of the ice, Sid drifts a little closer, trying to make eye contact. Alex doesn’t so much as blink in Sid’s direction.

The entire game, it’s the same thing, Alex plays as hard as ever, maybe even more determined, but she treats him as nothing more than a nameless opponent, a stranger that she’s never met.

After the game Sid doesn’t wait for a text message or a call. He knows it’s not going to come.

 

 

 

 

The Penguins make it all the way up to fourth in the Eastern Conference and second in the Atlantic division by the time that the season ends. Everyone’s excited for the playoffs but there’s a feeling of temperance among the team—a chip on their shoulders from last year reminding everyone that it’s best to take things one step at a time.

The Penguins meet the Capitals in the second round of playoffs. The Capitals are fresh off a seven game series against the Rangers. The Penguins have just closed out a six game series against the Flyers, so both teams are amped up and ready to play.

The series is electrifying—the Caps squeak out the first game with a goal in the third period that the Pens aren’t able to match. In game two, Sid’s line is clicking in all the right ways and he scores one goal, then two, then three for the hat trick, but Alex is behind him at every step playing as if she can single handedly stop the Penguins and she answers back for each of his goals, ending up with a hat trick of her own.

Dave Steckel scores for the Caps in the second period, which ultimately gives the Caps the go ahead goal, but the game feels like a challenge solely between Sid and Alex. The two of them against each other and for a moment, just a moment, Sid finally feels like he understands why there’s all this hype about their rivalry. Sid could play against Alex every day and not get bored.

So even though starting out a series down 0-2 isn’t ideal, Sid feels energized, renewed. The rest of the team takes their cue from Sid and the team goes into the first of their two home games with determination to win. The Penguins pull it out—winning the next three games, two of which require overtime, before dropping game six.

The Penguins take the lead early in game seven and even though Alex is doing everything in her power, it’s not enough as the rest of her team seems to fall apart around her. When the buzzer goes off after the Penguins cruise to a 6-2 victory, it sounds bittersweet to Sid, but before he can think about it, he’s being crushed in hugs as the rest of the Pens flood the ice in celebration.

It’s not until the two teams are going through the handshake line that it hits Sid that Alex will have to look at him when they shake hands. Both he and Alex are near their respective ends of their lines so it takes a while for them to make their way to each other. And as Sid goes down the line, he can’t help but feel his pulse kick up at having the chance to look Alex in the eye again, even if it’s only for a second or two.

But when Sid eagerly looks over after shaking Backstrom’s hand, he sucks in a breath. Alex looks devastated, her lips grimly pursed as if she’s barely holding herself together. Sid reaches out his hand and Alex takes it, her eyes finally meeting Sid’s. Everything just freezes for a second, the warmth of Alex’s hand against Sid’s feels electric, Sid’s pulse dangerously high. Sid’s not sure what he’s showing on his face but Alex’s face softens for a second and she looks almost confused.

Sid’s mouth is moving before he’s aware of it, a low “Alex,” trickling out.

Alex’s face hardens up and she pulls her hand back and leans in. “I don’t need your pity.” She says, Sid’s words thrown back at him. Then she moves on, gone.

 

 

 

 

The Penguins play the Hurricanes for the conference finals. On paper it's a great match up—the Hurricanes are only three years removed from their Cup and the Penguins are the previous Eastern Conference champs. But it’s a total massacre; the only game that’s remotely close is the first game. The Penguins sweep the Canes.

Sid’s happy but there’s no celebrating after they win the Conference title like there was the year before. Everyone remembers last year—the conference championship is no guarantee of a Stanley Cup victory. And when Detroit does what everyone predicted and beats the Blackhawks, Sid can’t help but feel like it’s fate for the two teams to meet again. It’s just like rematch, except that this year the Penguins have the chance to redeem themselves.

               On the way back home to Pittsburgh, Talbot trips while getting out of his seat and totally eats it. Everyone on the plane is laughing, taking pictures. Even Sid can’t help but grin and he pulls out his phone to take a picture to send to Alex before his brain catches up with him. He puts his phone away instead and thinks that maybe it’s not just like last year after all.

 

 

 

 

The Stanley Cup finals are a drag down, messy fight from the start. The Red Wings win the first two in Detroit, the Penguins win the next two in Pittsburgh, the Red Wings win, then the Penguins and suddenly they’re at game seven, both teams beaten up, exhausted and wanting the Cup more than anything.

Sid isn’t one for motivational pep talks, but he stands up in the locker room before Bylsma comes in. Everyone’s antsy, nerves for even the most veteran of players. “We’ve got this.” Sid says. “Not only are we better than them, but we want it more.” Everyone nods at him, their faces serious. Sid’s so proud of his team, so happy to be playing with them. And he knows that they can win. Sid’s pulse may be pounding in his ears but he’s never been surer of anything.

The first period is a placid as a Stanley Cup finals game seven can be—neither team musters up much momentum. Sid takes it upon himself to get the team going and gives everything that he has every shift that he’s on. After all, this is it—this is the end of the stretch.

Near the end of the first, the Red Wings get a fantastic two on one opportunity. Zetterberg passes to Datsyuk who goes top shelf. Flower, miraculously, makes an amazing glove save and then the refs blow the whistle. Datsyuk makes this rueful grin and even though Datsyuk and Alex look nothing alike, the mannerism brings Sid back. For a second, all that Sid can think of is Alex giving Sid that rueful smile whenever she let Sid win whatever inane argument they were having and it’s almost like a physical ache. But then Geno is shouldering past Sid for the face off and Sid forces himself back into the moment. This is the Stanley Cup Finals, he tells himself. The Stanley Cup Finals. Everything else can wait.

Early in the second, Sid is backchecking into the defensive zone when Franzen checks Sid into the boards near center ice. Sid’s left knee immediately gives out, caught between Franzen and the boards, and Sid goes down before he even registers what happens.

He gets himself to the bench, barely able to skate, and then the trainers take him back. Nothing’s broken or torn, it’s probably just a sprain, so Sid gets them to put a numbing agent on it, grits his teeth as they wrap it up and heads back to the bench.

It’s clear that Sid still can’t put much weight on it, so Bylsma takes one look at Sid and shakes his head no. Sid wants to argue and yell that this is his time to play, but it’s not his call, so he takes a seat at the end of the bench.

The Pens seem to be energized by Sid’s return to the bench and they start to pick up a little momentum. Suddenly Talbot taps one in on Osgood and the whole bench is jumping up and cheering. And just a few minutes later, Talbot, the miraculous clincher, gets another goal, putting the Penguins up 2-0.

The team isn’t content to defend for the third period, they keep going hard, but the Red Wings manage to push one in with six minutes left in the game. All Sid can do is wait there for the last nerve-wracking minutes as the Red Wings hammer Fleury with shots. When the Red Wings pull their goalie, Sid can’t help but count down the seconds on the clock. Praying, wishing and hoping with every fiber of his being.

After a small eternity, the buzzer sounds and everyone on the bench is screaming and jumping onto the ice to hug Flower. Sid doesn’t even feel his knee as he skates out, unable to stop smiling. Everyone’s grabbing each other and yelling and Sid’s never been so happy.

 

 

Eventually after the Stanley Cup is brought out on ice and there’s been a million pictures and champagne, the team ends up back at some club that management has rented out. Everyone is hammered out of their minds—people are spraying bottle of champagne everywhere, everyone’s posing with Lord Stanley and it’s perfect. Or, Sid thinks, it should be perfect. After all, this is everything that he’s worked for. Every single step, professionally and personally has been to get to this point.

So, Sid should be ecstatic, nothing should feel missing. Instead, he can’t stop pulling out his cell phone, hoping against hope for a text message or call that isn’t going to come.

“SID!” Talbot yells from somewhere to Sid’s right. Sid looks around as Talbot and Geno show up, smiling wide like they’re never going to stop. Talbot throws his arm around Sid and Geno pulls out a bottle of champagne. “You are way behind us!” Geno brings the bottle towards Sid and Sid takes the bottle, laughing. It’s fine if she doesn’t text, Sid tells himself. Everything is perfect as it is.

 

 

 

 

Sid wakes up the next morning in a hotel room, with his shirt off but his pants on, and absolutely no recollection how he made it from the bar to the hotel. Someone’s been kind enough to put some aspirin and water on the nightstand next to him, as well as lay out his cellphone and wallet.

He slowly reaches for the aspirin and water, feeling all of the aches of the past two months of playoffs as well as the edges of a hangover, but it feels like the good kind of soreness after a heavy work out.

At some point today the team is probably flying back to Pittsburgh. Sid should get up and at least figure out what the timing will be. But, he reasons, the plane probably isn’t going to leave without him. So he finishes off the rest of the water and lets himself drift back to sleep, re-living in his head the moment when he finally lifted up the Stanley Cup, impossibly light in his hands.

 

 

Buzzing from Sid’s phone wakes him up some indeterminate amount of time later and Sid blindly reaches over and grabs it. He squints at the screen and groans. There are well over a hundred texts as well as what looks like forty or fifty missed calls. It’s tempting to put his phone back and just keep on sleeping but Sid’s up so he starts scrolling through the messages. Most of them are variants on congratulations, which Sid figures he can respond to later.

Sid then turns to his missed calls. Most of them he ignores although he makes a mental note to call Army back later. It isn’t until he’s scrolled through half of them that he sees that he made one outgoing call—right around 3 am. And right next to the outgoing call symbol is the name that makes Sid reflexively wince: Alex Ovechkin.

With a sense of grim determination, Sid presses the information symbol, hoping that it would say 19 seconds or something that would preclude Sid making a huge idiot of himself. Maybe Sid just warbled into the answering machine for a few seconds. No such luck. The call length is listed as seven minutes and thirty-nine seconds. Fantastic.

Sid forces himself to think back to the evening before. What he can remember is hazy at best. There’s a…very dim recollection of Sid? Talking on the phone? There’s a brief flash of Sid earnestly saying that he missed Alex, that she plays great hockey, that she’s so weird, but Sid likes all of it. Maybe some more of the missing her part.

Sid flushes all the way down to the chest and brings his pillow over on top of his face. If there were a way to smother himself right now, he’s not sure he would turn down that option.

Taking deep breaths, Sid tells himself to calm down. There’s a more than reasonable chance that he’s not even remembering the conversation correctly. Or even if what he thought he said and what he actually said were the same thing. With the amount of alcohol that Sid consumed, he most likely just slurred unintelligibly into phone for a few minutes.

Plus, there’s no text message or indication from Alex about their conversation. If Sid had called Alex and said those things, for better or worse, Alex wouldn’t have just left it like that unless she didn’t care. And as Sid’s stomach sinks at the thought that perhaps Sid really has permanently fucked whatever they had up and mixes up against the faint remains of Sid’s hangover, Sid feels more than a little nauseated.

 

 

 

 

After the team’s return to Pittsburgh, the parade, the partying and even more partying, Sid heads back to Cole Harbour. It’s relaxing and great being with his family, spending a few weeks with them before he starts his training back up. But Sid can’t shake that constant sinking feeling that’s been following him around since the morning after the Stanley Cup.

He’s been forcing himself to hold back from drunkenly calling or texting Alex and it feels like this shadow following him around. Sid wants to know what she’s up to—how she’s spending her summer. Is she having a good time? Is she thinking of him?

After a few weeks of aimlessly refreshing Alex’s Twitter and staring at the last text message that Alex had sent him (impossibly long ago), Sid gives in and calls Gonch.

It goes about as well as Sid expected it to.

“Hey Sid…” Gonch says, clearly surprised to be on the receiving end of a call from Sid during the summer.

“Hey Gonch!” Sid says brightly. “How are you? How are the kids?”

“Good, good. We’re all good.”

“That’s great.” Sid says. “How’s Geno doing?” As if Sid couldn’t just text or call Geno himself.

“Geno’s doing well.” Gonch says, sounding a little confused.

“That’s fantastic. I imagine it’s nice to be back in Russia.” Sid’s practiced this bridge carefully in his head a few times. “Do you see a lot of the other NHL players while your back there? Like Geno or Alexandra Ovechkin?”

“Alexandra Ovechkin?” Gonch says, sounding confused. Sid panics.

“Right, I have to go.” Sid said quickly. “Nice talking with you. Excited for the new season!”

Sid sighs after he hangs up. There’s clearly not going to be a subtle way to see what Alex has been up. He allows himself a few minutes to try and think of anything other than having to actually ask for advice before he gives it up and calls Army.

“Sid!” Army says when he picks up. “How’s it going?”

“Good—the usual.” Sid says. “You?”

“I’m good. What’s up?”

Sid thinks. “I just wanted to—wanted to get your opinion on something.”

“Uh huh…” Army says warily.

“So I think I might like someone that I was hooking up with but I didn’t think I liked this person. Except she saw me kind of making out with someone else and….now hates me. And as it turns out, I don’t really dislike her at all.”

“Let me make sure that I’m translating Sid to normal English correctly. There is a girl that you liked, although you didn’t realize it until you hooked up with someone in front of her?”

“Yes.” Sid said, feeling very sorry for himself.

Army started laughing. “Wow! You really screwed the pooch there.”

“Not helpful.” Sid says.

“But you didn’t like this girl until after she started hating your guts.”

“No, I mean I kind of liked her before but she’s very annoying and loud and I just….ugh.” Sid groans. “Just, I didn’t want to like Alex but she grew on me like…fungus. Or maybe athlete’s foot. That feels more applicable.”

“Wait—Alex?” Army says, his voice sounding really excited.

“No—that’s not what I meant.” Sid starts talking quickly.

But it’s too late. “Alex as in Alexandra Ovechkin? No way—you’re mooning over Alexandra Ovechkin!” Army starts laughing again, really laughing hard.

“Ugh. I…you are the worst.” Sid gets out.

“No, I am the best.” Army says. “Because I am going to help you. So let me make sure I have this straight. You and Alexandra—that’s never going to stop being funny, by the way—were hooking up. Although, just as a point of clarification—no wait, never mind. So you two were hooking up, you thought non-exclusively. You then decided to hook up with someone else and she caught you?”

“Well—more like I was making out with someone in a public place and she happened to see me.” Sid explains.

Army thinks about it for a second and tactfully declines to comment on how poor of a choice that probably was. “Have you tried talking to her and apologizing?”

“Um. No. She doesn’t really want to talk to me.” Sid says. Army makes a sympathetic sound. “Although…right after the Cup, I called her while I was really drunk. I may have told her that I missed her. I may have also told her that I liked her. I’m not really sure though because I was really drunk. Drunk like you wouldn’t believe. I may have even told her that she was good at hockey.” Army sniggered in the background. “But she never initiated anything after that. So I could have misremembered all of it. Or been slurring so badly the entire time that I really creeped her out.”

“Well,” Army says. “First, I would try talking to her, face to face. Without being outrageously drunk. Explain how you feel. Say that what happened with the other girl was a terrible mistake.”

“What if she won’t talk to me?” Sid says, quietly.

Army sighs. “She’ll talk to you.” He pauses. “Who could resist that adorable, sweet face of yours? Plus, you’ve got that NHL captain thing going for you. Girls love that kind of thing.”

Sid snorts. “Yeah, everyone knows that they’re going to name her captain next season.”

“Match made in heaven! Just think of all the adorable captainly children that you two could have.”

By the time that Sid gets off the phone with Army, he feels a little bit better now that he has a game plan. Step one: talk to Alex in person. From there Sid can take it.

But talking in person is easier said than done. Sid spends the next few days trying to figure out when he can talk to Alex in person. The season doesn’t start for almost two months and what is Sid going to do exactly, corner her after a game? Sid doesn’t think he could wait until then. And even if he could, if Alex wants to avoid Sid at a Caps home game, she’s more than capable. And Sid can’t exactly loiter outside of the Caps locker room at the Consol Center or outside of one of their practices.

 

 

 

 

It comes to Sid in mid-August when he checks Alex’s twitter to see that Alex has already arrived back in D.C. a few weeks early. And just like that, Sid has a plan. He packs up a small bag and books himself the next flight out.

It’s just after ten in the evening when Sid gets into Dulles, which means that it’s almost eleven by the time that Sid’s been through customs and grabbed a cab. He half wonders if he should just grab a hotel for the night—Alex may not appreciate a midnight visitor, especially if it’s Sid. But Sid’s come too far to chicken out now, so he gives the driver Alex’s address and pulls out his phone to play a game to distract himself.

When they pull up outside of Alex’s house, Sid’s nerves are an absolute wreck. But he forces himself out of the car after handing over enough money to cover the fare. He stands outside the house and looks at it, trying to judge if Alex is home. Maybe she isn’t even here—she loves going out. She could be out with friends or at a bar. Maybe he should just wait—try texting her to see if she even wants to talk to him again.

But, Sid reminds himself, he didn’t make it where he is by not following through. So he takes a few deep breaths and marches up to the house and knocks loudly on the door.

There’s no sound in response, so Sid knocks a bit more forcefully and rings the doorbell. There’s a series of loud thumps from inside the house. Sid stands frozen for a second, more than a little concerned about the noise, but then Sid can hear someone walking towards the door and all questions are gone. Deep breaths.

There’s a “Sid?” from behind the door and then the door is opening up to a very confused looking Alex. She clearly fell asleep on the couch or something, because she’s wearing a Capitals t-shirt and jeans, although both are wrinkled and her hair is slightly frizzy.

Sid’s never been happier to see her. He wants to take a step forward and pull her into a hug, to let everything about Alex surround him. Which is of course when Sid’s eyes drift down to Alex’s sides. Where she’s holding a bat loosely.

Sid takes a big step back. Alex looks even more puzzled and then follows where Sid is looking at. She gives a tired sounding laugh. “Don’t worry—not to beat you up. I think, someone pounding on door—maybe someone dangerous. Instead, I just end up with harmless asshole.”

Sid lets it pass. It only seems fair. “Actually, about that. I was coming to talk to you.”

Alex gives him a long look, with one eyebrow raised. “Fine, come inside though.” Alex lets Sid into the house and heads to the kitchen, Sid following in her wake.

When they get to the kitchen, Alex starts heating up some water and heads over to a cabinet. “Tea?”

“Yeah, sure.” Sid says, so Alex pulls out two coffee mugs.

“So why do I have honor of a middle of the night visit from such great person?” Alex asks as she puts tea bags into the mugs and then turns to face Sid. Sid doesn’t rise to the bait.

“I want to apologize.” Sid says, making sure to have eye contact with Alex. She frowns a little. “I—uh—I shouldn’t have kissed that other girl.”

Alex sighs. “Sid—we weren’t. It’s fine. It’s over, no need to apologize. I thought that--” She paused. “Doesn’t matter. But is fine.”

Sid’s stomach drops. “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, I am sorry that I kissed that girl because it hurt you, but that’s not just why I’m apologizing now.” He takes a deep breath. “I like you. I really like you now and I liked you then, but I was an asshole about it. And it does matter—I’ve spent the last six months being miserable about it and missing you and your texts like crazy. I couldn’t see how awesome you are.”

Alex looks at Sid, her face carefully blank. “What do you want? Right now, what you looking for?”

“A chance to make it up to you? Maybe a chance to start at the beginning?” Alex chews on her lip. “Look, all summer long, I’ve been wanting you to send me a picture of a penguin with a cup and for you to say ‘great picture of you!’ or chirp me about how you think you’re going to take the Cup from us next year.

Alex’s lips quirk up, as if she can’t help it. “Sid is very photogenic.” She then marshals her face into seriousness. After a second she turns and starts fussing with the mugs. “You know, you call me after Cup. Say lots of things—I don’t know if you serious because you are very drunk. And then, you don’t call. Or text. So, is same thing. All over again. Sid, I like you too. But…” she trails off, uncertainty written all over her face. It looks out of place there—Sid’s never seen her look less than confident.

Sid cautiously steps towards her and, making sure to telegraph his movements, slowly brings his hand up to Alex’s face. She turns and faces Sid and something about her expression makes her look so sad but also so hopeful, so Sid takes a chance and leans in to kiss Alex.

For a second, Alex doesn’t move and Sid is positive that he’d made a horrible mistake. But then Alex opens her lips and begins to slowly kiss Sid back. Sid keeps the kisses light and they’ve never felt so intimate or tender before.

Sid begins to press kisses against Alex’s jaw line and he can feel Alex smile for a second before she speaks. “Hopefully, parents will not come down and catch us like this.”

Sid jumps back. “Your parents are here?”

Alex starts laughing. “Your face! No, definitely no. But so funny, your face!”

Sid glares at Alex. “Definitely not funny. Not at all.”

Alex mock pouts at Sid and then grabs Sid’s belt loops, reeling Sid in until they’re almost touching. “Alright, let’s try. You, me. No kissing other girls.”

Sid nods. “Deal.” He leans in for another kiss, but Alex yawns.

“Maybe, talk more in the morning?” Alex suggests. “Sleep now?”

Sid wholeheartedly agrees, so Alex turns off the kettle and then they head to Alex’s room. Sid strips down to his briefs and Alex takes off her bra and pants, only wearing the Caps shirt. And then, they crawl into bed.

For all that they’ve slept in the same bed together before—it’s always been an afterthought. One of them was too tired to move or it wasn’t a conscious decision.This is the first time that they’re deliberately getting into a bed for the sole purpose of sleeping.

Sid settles down onto the sheets and Alex fits herself next to Sid. She slowly runs her fingers down Sid’s arm, stopping at his palm and as Sid opens up his hand so that they can interlace their fingers, he feels something suspiciously like contentment blossom in his chest.


End file.
